My paternal grandmother died 13 years ago around 3 o clock in the afternoon on a March 25. She was 85.
This is the 13th year in a row I miss a particular phone call early in the morning of a particular day. She used to call to wish me (wish us, all of us grandchildren would agree) a happy birthday before I/we ran to catch the school bus.
More than this day, the 17th of November evokes fonder memories. Her birthday… it was one big celebration .. a memory from my earliest years.. You can say, as a family, most of us do not need a really big reason to celebrate…
Do I miss her.. I don’t know.. how close was I to her, I’m not sure.. but there are some feelings that exist which words cannot express.
the family folklore: She had navy blue eyes.. and long hair; there are lores about how my grandfather fell for her eyes and the hair.. 😛